


you cut through all the noise

by phenomenology



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff, Tattoos, Xhorhouse (Critical Role), local lesbians actually talk for once, there's not much to this they literally just talk for once, very soft, why is that a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21888202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenomenology/pseuds/phenomenology
Summary: "don't leave."or: local lesbians actually talk about their issues
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 9
Kudos: 191





	you cut through all the noise

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this after i think it was 85 or 86? whichever one they freed Yasha. and then lost track of it and now it does not follow canon but whatever. it's also been a MINUTE since i wrote anything so what better way to get into it than with my favorite sentinel babes?
> 
> **EDITED on 2/7/21 so that it actually makes sense

“Don’t leave.”

Yasha turned, mismatched eyes flashing in the dim light coming through the window, making her seem a little wild in the slanting shadows. Beau thought she looked stunning, composed of angles and shades of grey—despite the fact that her bag slung over one shoulder made something ache fiercely in Beau’s chest. She watched Yasha’s fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the strap, her other hand hovering over the doorknob.

“Did you really think you could get out without setting off the chimes? You’re lucky I caught you before you made that mistake. Cad is hyperaware of those things.” Beau folded her arms across her chest, attempting to appear calmer about this situation than she felt. Leaning one shoulder against the open doorway she stood in, Beau’s fingers dug into her biceps. If Yasha tried to leave, Beau wouldn’t be able to stop her.

Something in Yasha’s posture seemed to deflate as she sighed heavily. Her hand dropped to her side, away from the doorknob, and Beau counted it as a victory.

“I didn’t—I mean—I was just…” Yasha’s soft voice stumbled over her words, eyes flitting to the side, searching for an explanation, an excuse.

“Just leaving?” Beau offered, not unkindly, but Yasha flinched anyway. She tried to be a little softer as she spoke again. “We just got you back, Yash…where were you going to go?”

“I-I don’t know,” Yasha admitted after a stretch of quiet hesitation. “I figured…it was better than making things awkward here.”

“What are you talking about? Is this about Fjord? Or me?”

Yasha shook her head quickly, but her fingers twitched at her side, looking like they wanted to grab the door handle again. Beau knew one of those questions hit the nail on the head.

“Look, if it’s Fjord, his abandonment issues shouldn’t force you away from us. If this is about me, I already told you I knew it wasn’t you. Besides that, we spent all that time you were gone trying to figure out how to catch up to you, how to get you back. We aren’t going to let you go so easily, Yasha.” With a jerk of her head, Beau indicated their sleeping friends somewhere upstairs. “Fjord has gotta work through his bullshit on his own, just like the rest of us. We’ll be here to help him if he needs us, and the same goes for you.”

The Aasimar was silent, staring at the floor for a long while before she answered ever so quietly, “I don’t think I deserve that.”

“Too bad,” Beau shot back almost immediately. Her blood boiled to think about the whole situation. She brewed with fury that Obann hurt Yasha to begin with. Beau was livid that he had taken her away from them for so long, had tortured her and used her rage for his gain and left her shaken this way. They didn’t get back the Yasha they lost, but they wouldn’t trade her now for anything.

“You don’t get to choose who cares about you,” Beau used the words she had given Caleb months ago. “We aren’t much more than a bunch of assholes and bastards, but like it or not, you’re one of us. We aren’t going to leave you behind unless you’ve got a damn good reason.”

Yasha didn’t seem to know how to answer that, eyes stuck on Beau for a heartbeat before she dropped her gaze to stare at the floor. Beau wasn’t sure how to meet Yasha’s silence, how to carry the conversation, or how to drop it. It merely hung—uncomfortably unfinished.

Biting her lower lip, Beau huffed and dropped her arms. She pushed off the doorframe, catching Yasha’s attention with her movement.

“Let’s go to bed. We can figure this out at a more reasonable hour of the morning.”

She turned to lead the way back upstairs to their rooms, a gesture of trust that Yasha would follow, wouldn’t take this chance to bolt. The floorboards creaked behind Beau and the door chimes stayed silent. As they went, Beau realized she wasn’t sure where they were heading—towards Yasha’s room, or her own. Or if they would break off once they got upstairs, go their separate ways and risk never picking this up again. Beau worried the topic would fester and rot in the front hall where they left it if they didn’t address this before going to bed. But she wouldn’t push Yasha to talk about this—Beau would never even try.

That was probably something she could deal with at the top of the stairs.

It had been—veritably, according to Caleb—around two months since they had Yasha in their presence and of sound mind. It was more of a relief than Beau would ever admit out loud. If she were honest, the moment she realized that Caduceus had shattered the enchantment on their friend was like a balloon swollen uncomfortably large popping in her chest. Admittedly, that feeling might have been more due to the gaping chest wound she sustained in the church.

As they ascended, Yasha’s gaze sat like a heavy weight on the back of Beau’s neck, but she made no comment and kept on upward. The stairs creaked in intervals beneath their weight, a discordant melody to fill their silence. They reached the top of the stairs and Beau was still working through how to ask what they would do now when Yasha surprisingly spoke up first.

“Your tattoo…could I see it again?” Yasha’s soft voice drew Beau’s eyes towards the Aasimar, eyebrow cocking in question. One pale hand gestured to her own shoulder, meaning Beau’s back. “On your neck.”

“Oh,” Beau twisted slightly, eyes straining to stare over her own shoulder like she might view her own skin. “Sure.” A moment of debate before, “you know, if we catch Orly again, you should totally get one, too.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Yasha’s mouth, watching as Beau turned around where she stood to show off the tattoo. Yasha had already seen it, but it had been brief. She didn’t get a full view; the action done in a moment of rushed conversation in a messy attempt at catching up after too much time apart. Beau stood still and pulled her hair aside, fingers tangling with the stray strands of her topknot. Now, Yasha got to have a full, good look at the glistening green ink.

The filigree was stunning, and the eye familiar, unblinkingly staring out from the nape of Beau’s neck.

“Molly,” Yasha breathed, voice tremulous.

Beau went still at the tremor in her voice, shoulders deflating a little. “Yeah…I just. Y’know. Miss him.”

“It’s beautiful, Beau,” Yasha managed quietly, eyes tracing over the shimmering green filigree. “Can I…can I touch it?”

Beau remained quiet for a heartbeat, two, before she nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

There was something breathless to her voice, a sort of tenuous reverence Beau never let through. And if she appeared only a little tenser than usual, Beau already gathered excuses at the back of her throat. She didn’t want to be the reason behind the guilt that might shutter through Yasha’s expression, the stinging pull in her gut that Beau knew would manifest. Beau would say she didn’t do casual touch all that often; play off her tension and water down her reaction. She wouldn’t let Yasha think it had anything to do with the fact that she had driven her blade through Beau’s abdomen less than two days ago.

With trembling fingers, Yasha reached out at length to lay her fingertips against the pupil of the all-seeing eye. The sloping ridge of Beau’s spine beneath the skin there was firm. It was all too easy for Yasha to feel the monk shudder slightly under her fingers. But neither pulled away.

The slow trace of Yasha’s fingers along the shimmering lines of Beau’s intricate tattoo were reverent, snatching the breath from Beau’s lungs. She knew Yasha was gentle in everything but battle, but being on the receiving end of those ministrations was something she might never get used to. The lines of jade dust ink still sat slightly raised beneath Yasha’s touch, the slope of Beau’s shoulders warm and sturdy. The attention Yasha paid to each delicate branch of filigree read as if she longed to spend hours pouring over the design. She traced like she wanted to memorize the tangle of ink and sinew with her fingertips until it read like a map. But Beau’s arm was getting tired, holding her hair aside and knees locking with her rigid posture. Her fingers shifted their grip on her hair and she felt the way the spell of Yasha’s attention broke.

Yasha pulled her fingers back quickly, and Beau knew Yasha thought she crossed a line. Beau looked over her shoulder at Yasha, saw the apology ready on her tongue. But Beau gestured down the darkened hallway before the other woman could speak.

“My legs are killing me. We should go sit down somewhere. I think your room is closest?”

Yasha’s mismatched eyes flicked down the hallway, tracking her door in the dim, then finding Beau’s guarded but hopeful expression staring back at her. Before Beau could retract the offer, for fear of making Yasha uncomfortable, the Aasimar was nodding her consent, and they were on the move.

Beau let Yasha go first, the Aasimar entering into her bedroom with long, hesitant steps. She pictured all too easily Yasha from minutes before, leaving like she would never see the room again. From behind the Aasimar, Beau watched Yasha’s gaze travel to the mural of flowers Jester had painted on the wall. The furrow in Yasha’s brow eased slightly, and the quiet thud of Yasha’s bag dropped just inside the door lifted like a physical weight off Beau’s back. Yasha moved aside to let Beau in. The monk was acutely aware of the way Yasha seemed to fight against the urge to take the literal open door chance at making a run for it.

Beau’s quiet look was more proud than she meant it to be when Yasha shut the door behind them.

A few awkward, quiet shuffling minutes later found Beau sitting in front of Yasha on the Aasimar’s bed, both of them with their legs crossed. Beau adjusted her topknot so that it was a little firmer, freeing her from having to hold her hair aside. She tipped her head forward, lengthening the slope of her neck to her shoulders, the muscles rippling slightly and making the ink glimmer in the dim lighting of Yasha’s bedroom.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Yasha asked hesitantly, her voice so soft it was barely heard in the silence.

“Promise,” Beau muttered back, almost as quiet as Yasha. She remained unmoving in front of Yasha, and if the Aasimar noticed the blush burning the tips of Beau’s ears, she was nice enough not to say anything.

Sat this way, Yasha was hidden from Beau’s gaze. Despite that, she could sense Yasha steeling her resolve, pushing aside every instinct that reared its head and stuffing emotions away. The monk shuddered at the inevitable feather light brush of Yasha’s calloused fingertips over Beau’s tattoo, a quick and jittery motion.

Dragging her fingers with almost no pressure or presence at all over the raised lines of the tattoo, Yasha followed the curves of the eyelid engraved into Beau’s skin. Her index finger took a moment to trail down the strangely shaped pupil before ghosting towards the lines of the large triangle framing the eye. Those lines were thicker, Yasha tracing them with appreciation, fixated on the intricacies of the surrounding filigree as her skin smoothed over the various designs.

As she reached the apex of the triangle, Yasha’s touch hesitated for only a moment. With a resolute inhale, her fingers traveled up the winding branches of ornamentation into the tight shave of Beau’s undercut.

Beau’s spine straightened with the sensation. She sucked in a tight breath where her chin sat nearly tucked to her chest. Yasha’s fingers stilled just below the soft edge of Beau’s hairline.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep,” Beau’s voice was strained, her muscles taught. “Yeah, totally fine. Never better.”

Beau knew Yasha didn’t believe her, but Beau hadn’t told her to stop. Her fingers remained where they were, Beau sensing her eyes trained on the monk’s shoulders, likely watching as the tension slowly bled from her posture.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Beau breathed, voice a little more even. She paused, then met Yasha’s resolve with honesty. “My hair and neck are just…a little sensitive. It’s kind of vulnerable and, you know, I’m not really uh, _good_ with that.”

“I can stop,” Yasha offered, her fingers already pulling away. “We should…probably get to sleep, anyway.”

Beau turned to look at Yasha, mouth parted as a protest died on her lips before nodding and shifting to get off the bed. She caught the panic that welled in Yasha’s eyes the moment before Yasha reached out. Her fingers wrapped quickly around Beau’s wrist. Beau froze, and Yasha almost pulled away, but the expression lingering in Beau’s eyes wasn’t fear, and she saw the moment Yasha latched onto that.

“Yasha? You okay?”

“I don’t…can you—?” Yasha stumbled to a stop, mouth clamping shut like she forced herself to stop.

Beau waited. She wanted Yasha to ask her to stay. She wanted Yasha to say she didn’t want to be alone right now. Beau all but heard through the silence that Yasha needed her to stay because if Beau left, Yasha couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t try to leave in the night again. But those statements sounded selfish, and Yasha wasn’t. She also knew Yasha didn’t think she had the right to ask for something like that. Especially not from Beau.

Yasha’s fingers loosened around the monk’s wrist and she pulled away, eyes averted.

“I can stay,” Beau offered softly, making Yasha’s eyes snap up to her. “If you want.”

“Please.” It was rushed, breathless. Grateful.

Beau nodded, and they set about lying down in Yasha’s bed. It just barely sat big enough to fit both of them. If it had been anyone bigger than Beau, it wouldn’t have worked. But regardless, they ended up lying on their sides, facing each other in the darkness, quiet. Beau had one arm tucked up underneath her head for a little more support. Yasha curled up as tight as possible without bumping Beau with her knees.

“Why did you pick that design?” Yasha asked into the space between them after a moment, trying to break up the tension with her quiet question. Beau stared back at her for a minute—unable to make out the minute details of the Aasimar’s expression in the dark. Despite Yasha’s sight being better in the dark, Beau didn’t hide the emotion that shuttered across her face before answering.

“Orly said…our tattoos needed to go somewhere that aligned with the ability it enhances. And I was thinking about this design for a while, so it seemed to make sense to me. Molly was an idiot, but he was wise in his own strange way. The few deep conversations I got to have with him always left me feeling like I could be a better person. His all-seeing eye tattoo—or whatever he called it—felt…I dunno. Right? Appropriate?”

They lay silent for a minute as Beau’s eyes traced over Yasha’s indistinguishable features in the darkness. Her shitty vision in darkness obscured the finer details of Yasha’s face. But she saw enough to know that the other woman was staring intently at Beau across the scant space between them.

“What is it?”

“How can you trust me?”

“What do you mean?”

Yasha took a shaky breath as the skin between Beau’s brows furrow with concern. The monk shifted imperceptibly closer to Yasha.

“Yasha—” Beau started.

“I almost killed you, Beau,” Yasha choked out, seeming to force herself to hold the woman’s gaze. “I almost killed you, I almost killed Fjord. And I hurt all of you. How can you welcome me back like none of that happened and lie here like nothing has changed?”

“Things _have_ changed,” Beau said, eyes steady and voice firm in the darkness. “That’s why I’m here right now. You didn’t ask me to stay, but you wanted to. Honestly, you wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of letting me before all this. That’s not to say it’s a bad thing, it’s just different. But everything you did while you were with Obann, you can’t tell me you wanted to do that. It might have been your hand and your sword, but you didn’t want that. I know you, Yash…that wasn’t you. Not really.”

“But—”

“We’re some of the only people who will understand what happened and what you’re feeling. Caleb’s been through similar shit, too. What you think you deserve and what you need are two different things. You think you deserve to be shunned and punished for what you did while you didn’t have control. What you _need_ are people around you who care about you and support you. It’s going to take a minute for things to settle into place, but we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Beau could feel Yasha staring at her expression, the shadows throwing sharp contrast across their features. This was one of the most honest faces Beau had ever put on around anyone from their party. She didn’t know how her honesty looked at this moment, but she hoped it was reassuring.

“Thank you,” Yasha whispered after a stretched out moment of quiet. Seeming to find enough courage to reach out, she placed her fingers ever so gently against Beau’s arm, just above her elbow of the arm tucked under her head. Beau blinked in the darkness, expression melting with surprise.

“Anytime,” Beau answered, breathless.

Yasha left her hand against Beau’s arm as the silence settled between them again. It was more comfortable this time—less like a noose and more like a blanket. Beau fell asleep first, and Yasha watched the monk fight the droop of her eyelids for a while before succumbing to her exhaustion. Yasha stayed awake for another few minutes, reassuring herself and steadying her anxiety to the rhythm of Beau’s chest swelling and deflating with her breath.

Her bag sat by the door, ready to go if Yasha’s feet carried her away. But Beau’s breathing was a firm anchor, and Yasha slipped off to sleep with her fingers warm against Beau’s arm and her back pressed to a wall painted with flowers.


End file.
